The questions spun around her head like a vortex and called into question everything they had uncovered. What else had been staged for them and why? This epiphany had led her to place a call to Laurel’s chief of police moments ago, kindly requesting Sergeant Osborne’s vacation schedule for the past two years.
The conversation had started kindly enough, but quickly tanked when she disclosed the request. The chief didn’t give her an earful as she expected, but very firmly expressed his distaste. She sat there and listened to his speech about loyalty, their code of honor and the difficulty of making daily life and death decisions under pressure. She didn’t bother to remind him that she was a sworn law enforcement officer, just like him, and had been shot through the forearm by a .223-caliber bullet making one of these pressured decisions. She was a woman, calling from a desk, muddying the waters. No point in pressing the issue.
She’d bring it up with Sharpe a little later and see if he could apply a little downward pressure on the Laurel Police Department. It was worth checking. Until she eliminated this theory, Occam’s Razor would never be satisfied. Osborne’s forest shootout wasn’t the only thing bothering her.
“Eric?”
“Yes,” Hesterman said, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Anything new on the guys in the compound?”
“Two more died at Scranton Regional, leaving eighteen. Of those eighteen, only six are conscious. Other than that, there’s not much to report. Only one of the regulars appears to have survived the assault. Jake Skelly. He’s the guy they grabbed in the communications room. He hasn’t said a word to Carlisle or anyone.”
“He checks out clean, right?’
“Yep. Just like the operatives in Brooklyn. Clean record. Current driver’s license from Missouri. Nothing in the system. We’ll know more about him in a few hours.”
“And the rest?”
“This is the interesting part. We’ve identified sixty-three of the remaining suspects from personal identification located on the bodies or in the barracks buildings. It looks like True America was in the midst of a recruitment drive. I found eleven of them on our own list of ‘persons of interest to the government.’ A few others have overt ties to extremist websites and blogs, posting regularly. I imagine we’ll find more links once we start issuing warrants and start digging.”
This was one of the other big issues bothering her. None of the True America operatives identified by Task Force Scorpion had any recent connections to anti-government websites.
“This group’s profile doesn’t match up with the operatives killed or captured so far. Something’s off here.”
“Maybe not. If you took a trip back in time two or three years, this is exactly the kind of group you might find hanging around the compound. If we hadn’t hit the compound when we did, this group would have been instructed to cut all extremist ties and devote all of their upcoming vacation time to training sessions in Hacker Valley.”
“I don’t know. Why would they start training a new cadre of operatives in the middle of a major operation?”
Hesterman finally opened his eyes and rubbed them with the back of his hands. “What are you thinking?” he said, inching his chair over to O’Reilly’s.
“I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m starting to see too many inconsistencies and one too many lapses in our investigation.”
“Here?” he said, staring around the watch floor.
“Even here. The Imam’s snatched right out from under us, never to be seen again. True America operatives carried away into the night less than a block from a major FBI crime scene. Anonymous phone calls leading us right to the Al Qaeda cells. I’m getting the impression that Sharpe’s holding something back. I have no idea what it might be, but I’m willing to bet it has something to do with Stewart. She seems awfully content watching over us from her perch. Don’t look up at her.”
Hesterman stopped his head from turning all the way.
“She just stands up there, doing nothing.”
“That’s exactly what Sharpe wants her to do around here. Nothing.”
“I wonder, though…”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Hesterman asked.
“I don’t know. I’m going to talk to Sharpe about my call to the Laurel police chief. I just asked the chief to provide me with Sergeant Osborne’s vacation record for the past two years, and he flatly denied the reque—”
“You did what?” Hesterman said incredulously.
“Yeah. Nothing about Osborne’s statement makes much sense to me. Maybe I’m losing it. Either way, if Sharpe ignores this, it’s time to start watching over your back.”
“Do you need backup in there?”
“Nope. I’ll be fine.” She watched Special Agent Mendoza approach Sharpe’s door with two cups of coffee. Perfect. She could play them off each other.
O’Reilly stood up from her computer station and prepared what she would say.
**
Sharpe had taken his second sip of coffee when O’Reilly appeared in his doorway and knocked on the frame, announcing her obvious presence.
“Come on in, Dana. You want to grab a coffee first?”
“No, thanks. The coffee doesn’t seem to have any effect on me anymore, beyond sending me to the bathroom every thirty minutes,” she said.
“Then grab a seat. Your visit is perfect timing, since Frank was about to fill me in on the recent developments from Hacker Valley.”
Frank Mendoza slouched in one of the faux leather chairs under a standing lamp, holding his coffee in two hands in what looked like an effort to keep it warm. The coffee cups stocked in the break room weren’t insulated and didn’t include tops. All of the equipment installed in the Operations Center was state of the art, with the exception of the coffee machine. Even the complimentary juice machine had a touch screen, allowing the selection of several dozen beverages, including carbonated choices. The coffee maker was a stainless steel, two-pot Bunn classic, taking up twice the amount of space necessary and brewing up the same coffee served to government employees for the past four decades. Amazingly enough, the machine looked new.
“I wish there was more to report, but Dana’s team will start making calls to businesses and households shortly. We’ll send teams out for interviews. How many were identified? Sixty-three? It’s a lot of legwork. Nobody likes to talk over the phone to a faceless FBI agent. This takes the highest priority, and we’ll have help from other agencies, so we’re expecting to start collecting detailed information by noon. More pieces to fit into the puzzle. I’m hoping we’ll start seeing a useful pattern here shortly. We have a lot of information,” Mendoza said.
“I agree, though I’m a little disturbed by the pattern developing at the compound. That, coupled with something else,” she said nervously.
“What is it?” Sharpe said.
“It doesn’t fit, does it?” Mendoza said.
O’Reilly looked at him, surprised. “No, none of it does.”
“What are the two of you talking about?” Sharpe said.
“We’ve identified sixty-three of the suspects at the compound. Too many of them have overt ties to extremist groups. Eleven of them showed up on the lists you ordered us to start compiling over a year ago. None of the operatives that we’ve captured recently held recent ties to any domestic extremist groups. They’d all gone quiet on that front three to four years ago.”
“A new batch of trainees?”
“On the eve of their magnum opus?” she retorted.
“It struck me as odd, too. I was waiting to hear more about their backgrounds,” Mendoza said.
“What are you suggesting?” Sharpe asked.
“I’m not sure, but I’ve also found some inconsistencies with Sergeant Osborne’s report. I called the Laurel police chief to ask about Osborne’s vacation schedule for the past two years, but he—”
“Dana, would you close the door, please?”
O’Reilly looked annoyed by his request and sud
den interruption. “Of course,” she said, pulling the door free of its magnetic hold.
“You called the Laurel police chief, implying that Osborne might be involved in today’s incident?” Sharpe asked, before she could continue.
“Yes. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Of course, he wouldn’t share the information. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision on my part.”
“I trust your judgment, Dana. I could have told you there was no way he would release the information, especially without a warrant.”
Sharpe knew there was no way he could keep them in the dark any longer. He detected a confrontational edge to O’Reilly’s mannerisms, which was out of character for her. Something was bothering her, and his guess was that she had finally started to put all of the pieces together. There were too many unexplained coincidences and logical leaps to go unnoticed by either of them for long. He regretted not bringing them into the fold earlier. No matter what he told them now, they’d feel betrayed, possibly not trusted. If he didn’t do it now, it would only be worse when they came to the inevitable conclusion on their own.
“Hold up for a minute. We need to bring someone else in on this conversation,” he said.
O’Reilly took the remaining empty leather chair and raised her eyebrows at Mendoza. He merely lifted his shoulders from his relaxed position in the other chair. Sharpe sent a text message and waited for the knock at his door.
“Dana, Frank, I need you to know that this has nothing to do with the utmost level of trust and confidence that I have in both of you. I was simply trying to mitigate the potential damage to your careers.”
He paused, avoiding their eyes for a moment, until someone knocked on the door and entered without waiting for Sharpe’s permission to enter. Callie Stewart closed the door behind her and turned to Mendoza and O’Reilly. She looked as confused as his agents.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” O’Reilly said.
Sharpe watched the look of bewilderment harden into a look of betrayal. He had no idea how he was going to proceed, so he jumped right in.
“I’ve been cooperating with Sanderson’s people without your knowledge since the morning of the 26th. Sanderson’s operatives have been critical to moving our investigation along, in ways that we could never implement without their help.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mendoza uttered.
“I thought I could insulate the two of you, but I was just deluding myself. There are some developments that support your theory, Dana, and require the highest levels of secrecy within the task force. I trust the two of you implicitly.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” O’Reilly said.
Stewart started to talk, but Sharpe cut her off with a severe look and an outstretched hand sporting his index finger.
“I understand that, and I’m sorry beyond words for keeping you in the dark. I really thought I would be doing you a favor. I made this decision to protect you. The backlash for working with Sanderson outside of the agreed-upon parameters would be devastating. You know how the director feels about them,” he said.
“Like I do?” O’Reilly said, glaring at Stewart.
“We’ve worked together for over four years, Dana. I should have known better.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said so far that makes sense,” O’Reilly said.
“Frank, you’re being awfully quiet. I’m really sorry,” Sharpe said.
“For what? Trying to protect us? I can’t hold that against you. I just wish you had brought me onboard earlier. What about you, O’Reilly?”
“I don’t trust Sanderson, or his people, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to have a few people looking over your shoulder, making sure you’re not being manipulated. Other than that, just some hurt feelings, but I’ll get over it…as long as I’m not required to be nice to Ms. Stewart.”
“I don’t expect anyone to be nice to Ms. Stewart. As a matter of fact, I expect you to continue hating her. Just keep in mind that I see us on the same team. I’d like to spend some time catching you up on a few things,” Sharpe said.
“May I say something?” Stewart asked.
“No. Unless you have something to pass on to me that’s new,” Sharpe said.
“It can wait.”
“Thank you, guys. Seriously, I can’t express my relief. I’ll make this up to you later. I promise.”
“You owe us big time. So, why did you have me close the door when I mentioned my call to the police chief?”
“Long story made short—the missing driver of the SUV in Brooklyn ended up in Sanderson’s custody. His name is Miguel Estrada, and he led a sizeable contingent of True America tactical operatives. Most of them were killed in the Brooklyn raid. He was also present at Mount Arlington to confirm that Al Qaeda hit the target and call it in to the police.”
“The phone they found in the SUV was Estrada’s,” O’Reilly said.
“Exactly. Estrada screwed up with that phone. It gave us the compound and his link to Mount Arlington. Apparently, Estrada was a key field commander, but not part of the inner circle. He received instructions, with little explanation. He’d helped arrange the Al Qaeda takedown with a man named Brown and a woman that he couldn’t identify. Brown might be an alias, since I couldn’t match a Brown with the description he gave us. Jamaican-born U.S. citizen with Army Special Forces experience.”
“What happened to Estrada?” Mendoza asked.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. All I care about is receiving accurate information from Sanderson’s conduits. I think we can all agree that the stakes are too high to dismiss the help he can provide outside of our rather restricted channels.”
“I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t agree,” Mendoza said.
“Same here,” O’Reilly added.
“Estrada’s next mission was to take a team down to Atlanta and dispose of a man named Benjamin Young. Sanderson’s team intercepted the assassination team and took Mr. Young into protective custody.”
“I knew there was a connection,” O’Reilly said.
“A big connection. Young did the majority of True America’s lobbying throughout corporate America and the elite political circuit. He raised millions of dollars for their political action group, scraping off a sizable portion for himself and Jackson Greely’s militant cronies. He wasn’t pleased with their ultimate reward for his lucrative services. He gave them everything in exchange for a secure place to hide his family until Greely is stopped. He’s soon to join Sanderson in Argentina.”
“That’s about as secure as it gets,” Mendoza said.
“And the sergeant in Maryland?” O’Reilly asked.
“We don’t have detailed information about the sergeant, but Young relayed a comment made by Greely. Young was concerned about FBI surveillance at one point, but was told specifically that he had nothing to worry about. When Young pushed the issue, Greely said they had people in the right places.”
“He could have been bullshitting Young. Trying to keep him calm. Playing him until the last possible moment,” Mendoza said.
“I doubt it. Given Greely’s paranoia, I think he would have severed ties with Young, or killed him sooner, if he had any doubts about the FBI,” Sharpe said.
“Do you have any reason to suspect that the task force is compromised?” O’Reilly asked.
“I have no reason to assume it isn’t, which is why none of this information extends beyond the four of us. From this point forward, Ms. Stewart will not be seen talking in private to any of us. If someone is watching, this meeting will look suspicious enough. Continued meetings will raise an alarm. Stewart can relay the information to me, and I’ll meet with the two of you. We obviously can’t make any major course corrections to our investigation, but we’ve been creative with planting clues here and there,” Sharpe said.
“Where do we go from here?” O’Reilly asked.
“We keep piecing together the puzzle with all of the evidence we have. We’ve gained solid ground here
, and I have no intention of kneecapping the task force. With the information we’ve collected and the personnel captured, I fully expect the task force to produce results that Sanderson’s people can’t replicate in the field. Putting the two sources together will give us the best chance of shutting down this conspiracy before it’s too late.”
“What if it’s already too late?” Mendoza asked.
“It’s a possibility, but if O’Reilly’s hunches hold merit, then the attack on Fort Meade was a feint, and the compound loaded with armed rednecks was staged. I hope you’re right, Dana. The thought of the forty-nine remaining canisters of this virus being dumped into various municipal water supplies is devastating. But if they’re not using the virus to poison the water, what on earth are they planning? Something worse. At least your theory buys us more time. Let’s hope you’re right.”
“Sorry, Ms. Stewart. You had something to say earlier?” Sharpe said.
“Save the ‘we’re all in this together’ speech for the rookies,” O’Reilly said.
“That wasn’t my plan. I just received some interesting information that has a direct bearing on the case. Our people just cracked Young’s proprietary database wide open. We have access to detailed information about his clients.”
“I thought he was cooperating?” O’Reilly said, her anger and outburst forgotten.
“He is, but Young couldn’t remotely access deeper tier information. You have to be inside the building at a terminal to do this. We have some cyber-security specialists that were able to hijack the system using his outer layer access. We can now see who has received all of the money Young has funneled to Greely. One of the names raises a disturbing possibility. Combined with O’Reilly’s suspicions, I’d say it was extremely disturbing. Are any of you familiar with the name Owen Mills?”
Sharpe had never heard the name, and given the non-reaction from his colleagues, neither had they.
“Doesn’t surprise me. I’d never heard the name before either. Mills is the CEO of Crystal Source water, based out of Honesdale, Pennsylvania. They draw their water from the Poconos. Crystal Source is one of the biggest bottled water distributors in Pennsylvania, northern New Jersey and mid-state New York, servicing businesses, homes and, of course, selling their bottles of water nationwide. Anyway, accounts owned by or associated with Mills have received nearly thirteen million dollars over the past three years. A Honesdale-based construction company was the recipient of a one-time payment of nearly five million dollars. Young said he diverted this money from contributions earmarked for True America’s political action group.”
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